Romancefest 3: Sadiefest - Talk to Her

Like most movies by Pedro Almodovar, TALK TO HER is romantic but it is not your typical romance. Javier Camara and Dario Grandinetti star as two men hopelessly in love with totally unavailable women. This is partially due to the nature of their relationships – Camara is a socially awkward, slowly developing stalker with a hopeless crush on a woman he’s barely even met and Grandinetti is in love with a woman who is more powerful and successful than he is who might be indulging in another romance on the side.

But, the nature of these relationships is nothing compared to the other major obstacle: both women are in comas, and they may never wake up again.

The two women are Rosario Flores as a confident and passionate bull fighter and Leonar Watling as a young and innocent ballet student. Most of Grandinetti’s romance with Flores takes place before she is gored by a bull and rendered comatose – he’s a handsome and intense writer who finds her fascinating and becomes her lover. But Camara’s romance happens almost entirely in his head, first as he watches Watling from afar, and later as he dotes on her night and day as her nurse at the hospital.

The captivating thing about this film, aside from the unique premise, is the way Almodovar deftly changes tones and point of view as the film unfolds, masterfully pulling the audience’s sympathy from one character to another as crucial information is slowly revealed. Someone we identify with early on might turn out to be a monster by the time the movie ends. It all just depends on where Almodovar chooses to point his camera and when he chooses to do so; where Almodovar chooses to insert a flashback and when he chooses to do so.

As usual with Almodovar, the film is a beauty to behold – all primary colors, fascinating faces, and pretty music. Almodovar also uses some dance sequences and choreography by Pina Bausch, who appears in one of the scenes in the “Café Muller” performance I was pleased to recognize from the recent documentary PINA.

There is a key scene in the middle of the film in which Camara’s nurse character recounts a silent film he saw, and it unfolds before our eyes – in a scenario straddling the realm of nightmare and fantasy, a man (Fele Martinez) shrinks to a miniscule size but still attempts to please his lover (Paz Vega) who towers over him. Almodovar takes this sequence exactly where you think it might go, as the tiny man explores every inch of his lover’s body. The beauty of this sequence is the way it unabashedly mines what seems like the most obvious Freudian symbolism in a way few other filmmakers would dare to – it seems obvious, but in its sheer audacity, it is not.

The same could be said for the entire coma plot – a seemingly obvious metaphor for one sided relationships, unavailable people, the way we idealize a lover to the point where we might choose to ignore reality. But, again, this premise is so fully and fearlessly explored, it doesn’t matter how obvious it might seem. That’s a gift – to be able to say what others want to say in true and simple way others cannot.